Whiskey Memories
by purplepagoda
Summary: Years after the coin toss Harm, and Mac's life is far from the way that they pictured it. After the tragic loss of their daughter Mac starts down a path of destruction. Can Harmon pull her back from the brink before it's too late? What is Mac hiding? Can Harm figure it out before it is too late to save her?
1. No Surrender

She sits in a smoky bar with a cigarette in her right hand. She takes a drag, and stares at the glass of amber colored liquid sitting on the bar in front of her. The bartender glances up at her. She looks strung out. There are dark circles under her eyes, and she looks as if she hasn't had a good meal in a year. Her collarbone sticks out. She's a sad soul, sadder than most of the people he's seen in recent history. She doesn't take a drink. She watches the glass as it sweats. She wears a short dress that reveals a little too much cleavage.

She wears heavy eye makeup to accentuate her hazel eyes. She extinguishes her butt in the ashtray, and proceeds to reapply her lipstick. It's a scene that the bartender has seen far too many times. A desperate woman, past her prime. A woman who has spent her entire life beaten down by life. She spends her days sleeping, and her nights making a living the only way that she knows how. The bartender turns towards the sound of a customer calling for him.

She looks down at her left hand, where a ring used to be. There is still a tan line on her finger from where it once rested. She tries to ignore the demons as she stares into the glass of gin. She's been here in this bar every night for the past several months. She's been in this city for a year. She finds herself being sucked in to all of it. She can feel herself being enveloped by the city of sin.

All of her choices, good, bad, and ugly have lead her here. She begins to wonder if she doesn't deserve this life that she is living. She searches for a moment of relief in all the wrong things. She seeks it out in the bottom of a bottle. She's tried to find it at the end of a needle. She has tried to medicate the emotional agony that she feels, but nothing seems to work.

Nothing makes her feel whole. Nothing eases the pain of the past. Nothing brightens her future. She grows a little bitterer with each passing day. All of her plans have been shot straight to hell. Everything she dreamt of, all of the things that she imagined are gone. She lives a life that she never could have envisioned.

Life has made her hard. It has made her cold, but it hasn't made her unfeeling. Every single that passes she hopes to feel nothing. Instead she spends her time painfully aware of the gaping hole in her heart. The anger, and the sadness make her want to drink again. She wants so badly to put the bottle to her head, and pull the trigger.

She hears footsteps approaching her, but she doesn't look up. She keeps her eyes on the glass in front of her. She can feel the warm feeling of the alcohol hitting the back of her throat. She can feel herself being sucked in. She can feel herself being dragged back to the bottom of the hole she's still climbing out of. A man in a uniform takes a seat next to her. He shoots her a smile, but she seems unaffected. She ignores his relentless flirting.

"What are you drinking?"

"None of your business."

"Let me buy you a drink," he insists.

"I'll pass, Sargent Smugass."

"That's a little harsh, don't you think. You don't even know me."

"Who said that I wanted to?"

"The way your dressed says that you want someone to get to know you better."

"You're a pig."

"Let me buy you a drink."

"No," she tosses a couple of bills on the bar, and hops off the barstool that she's on. She turns to walk away. She feels fingers around her bare arm.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

She clenches her jaw, and her nostrils flare. "I'm going home."

"Not so fast," he argues.

"Who the hell do you think that you are?"

"I am a Sargent in the United States Marine Corp. You will pay me some respect."

"A Sargent?" She laughs, "Is that supposed to impress me?"

"You have no idea who you're dealing with."

"Neither do you," she retorts, "I'm above your pay grade."

"You're just some hooker who has seen better days."

She frees herself from his grip, "I'm your worst nightmare," she tells him, and then turns to walk away.

She has played out this scenario a thousand times in her mind. She's gone over all of the scenes. She has considered every action, every consequence. As she exits the bar, and heads to her car she pretends not to notice the sound of footsteps trailing behind her.

She stops in front of a white GMC Denali, and pulls her keys out of her purse. She unlocks the door. She opens the door, flinging it open with force. She hits the Marine in the head. He stumbles back, nearly falling onto the pavement.

He looks like a jarhead with nothing going on between his ears. He's barely five foot eight. He compensates by being overly muscular. She theorizes that if he flexed his muscles he would bust out of his uniform. He recovers quickly, and yanks her out of the car by the head of the hair. He slams the door closed, and shoves her up against the car.

"For a street walker you have a nice ride."

"You know what they say about assumptions."

"No, I don't."

She rolls her eyes. He wraps his hand around her neck. She struggles for a moment. She knees him in the groin, and he lets go of her.

"That was a mistake," he tells her as he lunges forward.

She spits in his eye, "Your whole life was a mistake."

"Stop struggling, it won't end so badly for you."

"Go to hell," she stomps on his foot. She keeps provoking him.

He swings at her with every intention of giving her a black eye. Her reflexes work more quickly than his. She ducks, and his hand connects with her driver's side window. He recoils. His nostrils flare, and his face turns bright red. He reaches toward his belt. He removes a weapon. He presses the nine millimeter Glock from the holster on his belt. He presses it to her temple.

"Shoot me now, or you're going to regret it," she gives him the opportunity.

He cocks the weapon, his finger hesitates outside the trigger guard. She slips her gun out of the holster on her thigh. He places his finger on the trigger. She draws quickly. There is a crowd of people in the parking lot by this point. She can hear the sirens coming towards them. She watches as his finger caresses the trigger. She looks into the eyes of a coward. She raises her weapon and presses it against his forehead. She squeezes the trigger before he can muster the courage to pull his.

The gun fires, and the bullet rips through his skull. His blood spatters on her face. He falls backwards onto the ground. As she stands over his lifeless body she feels nothing. She feels no sense of relief, or remorse, or regret. This isn't the first time she's taken a man's life, and felt nothing. She watches as the police cruisers pull into the parking lot. She clears the bullet from the chamber, and removes the magazine. She places the weapon, and the magazine on the hood of the car.


	2. Nothing Really Matters

He enters the precinct, with a heavy feeling in his heart. An officer meets him in the squad room, and leads him into an interview room. He enters the room, and takes a seat next to his client. The police officer continues to ask a barrage of questions.

"Are you charging my client with something?"

"No," the officer admits.

"Good, then we're leaving," he rises from his seat.

She follows him out of the precinct to his car. She climbs into the passenger's seat, and he slams the door as he climbs in next to her. He puts the key in the ignition, but he doesn't turn the engine on. He takes a deep breath, and tries to maintain his composure.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"I couldn't live like this anymore. I am tired of living a lie. I just want to go home."

"I honestly thought that this day would never come."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't want your apology. I just want my wife back, Mac. I miss my wife. What kind of example are you setting for our kids? Did you even consider their lives when you pulled that trigger? You know what, I don't want to know the truth. I don't want to know your motives. I don't want to know how long you've been plotting this, because I can't defend you if you tell me."

She zones out. Her mind goes somewhere else.

Several moments later he touches her forearm, "Sarah did you hear me?"

She shakes her head, "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"Where do you want me to take you?"

"To get my car," she answers.

"Have you been drinking?"

"No," she insists.

"Sarah, just let me take you home."

"I can't come home," she argues.

"At what point are you going to realize that we need you? When are you going to start living in the present?"

"How many times are we going to have this conversation?"

"As many as it takes to convince you to come home."

"You're the one who kicked me out," she reminds him.

"What choice did I have, Sarah?"

"You always have a choice," she argues.

"What choice did you leave me? Did you really expect me to allow our children watch you unravel? Did you really think that was what was best for them?"

"You are never going to get it," she insists.

"I get it. I was there. Sarah you seem to forget that you are not alone in this world. I know that you spent most of your life alone, but you're not now."

"Coming home doesn't fix anything," she reminds him.

"It's a start. You haven't seen the kids in two months."

"You hold ever mistake that I've ever made against me. You save them in your arsenal as ammunition to shoot holes in my character."

"Mac, you know that I did what I had to. I did what was best for our children, because you weren't able to."

"You expect that I can just come home, and we can start all over? Do you really think that we can have the life that you envision? Harm the perfect life, with a perfect house, and perfect children, and…" she trails off as a lump forms in her throat, "a perfect wife, is all gone. It's all gone, okay? At what point are you going to understand that?"

"When are you going to understand that I just want my family back?"

"You should have thought of that. You are the one who kicked me out. You are the one who won't let me see my children," the tears wait to be shed.

"You are not the only one who has to live with what happened, Sarah. You aren't the only one who is going through hell."

"You weren't there," she reminds him.

"I know that you are going to hold that against me for the rest of my life, and I can't help that. I just hope that one day maybe you'll be able to forgive me. I know that you haven't worn your wedding ring since the day that you left. If you don't want to work on our marriage, that is up to you. You can't just disappear from our children's lives."

"I didn't disappear. I didn't abandon them. I didn't leave willingly. You threw me out. You are the one who wouldn't even let me see our son on his birthday. That was you."

"You can play the victim if you want, but you have to live with the consequences of your actions."

She purses her lips, and her nostrils flare.

"Sarah if you have something to say, then say it."

"I am always going to be an alcoholic, as long as I live. Instead of trying to crush me, maybe you could have tried to help me."

"I don't know how to help you. I wouldn't know where to start. Mac, you always keep me at an arm's length away. If you hadn't maybe I would have been able to stop it before it got so out of hand."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," she insists.

"What do you want? Do you want to come home? Are you ready to come home?"

"I don't want to stay here. I hate it here. I want to go home."

"We have to stay here."

"You don't have to stay here."

"I'm not going to leave you here. There would be nothing to come back to."

"Harm, maybe you should cut your losses. Take the kids, and leave this town. You need to start over."

"I thought that's what we were doing."

"They deserve better than me."

"You made a mistake, it doesn't change who you are. You are still their mother."

"A mistake?" She scoffs, "I went on a six month bender without any regard to my safety, or theirs. I am not suitable to be anyone's mother."

"How long have you been sober?"

"Three months."

"Don't you think that you deserve a second chance?"

"No," she answers honestly.

"Why not?"

"Because I can't say, without a doubt that I won't ever drink again. I can't promise you that I won't put their safety, or well-being in jeopardy again. I don't deserve the opportunity to screw their lives up any more than I already have."

"They want you to come back home."


	3. The Crushing Past

She sits in the passenger's seat of his SUV. She glances in the backseat at the two car seats. She feels her heart sinking as she notices the pile of toys on the floor, and a sippy cup in one of the cup holders. She thinks about the past few years, and how their fairytale ended more quickly than it began. She turns towards the driver's seat. Harm stares at her expectantly.

"I want to come home," she says under her breath.

"Then come home," he insists.

She nods in agreement. Within twenty minutes they are pulling into the driveway of a four bedroom on a cul-de-sac. He pulls the car into the garage, and then exits the vehicle. He shoves bikes, and powerwheels out of her way. She follows him out of the garage into the house. He pays the babysitter, and she quietly slips out. Mac heads into the master bedroom, making a beeline for the closet. She grabs some clean clothes, and exits the room.

She heads across the hallway into a bathroom. She takes a quick shower, and slips into a clean pair of pajamas. She tosses her dirty clothes into the laundry hamper, and leaves the bathroom. She heads down the hallway, nearly tripping over a tower of Lego's on her way. She sneaks into the first room on the right.

The room is painted ninja turtle green. A nightlight illuminates the room. She takes a seat on the edge of the twin sized bed. She stares at the face of a pajama-clad boy. She runs her fingers through his brown hair. She kisses the three year old boy on the cheek. She smoothes out his covers, and leaves the room.

She heads across the hall into a room with grape colored walls. She tiptoes across the room, hoping not to fall over a pile of toys, or laundry. She manages to make it to the bed without incident. She takes a seat on the bed, and reaches for the lamp on the bedside table. She flips on the lamp, and stares at the little girl nestled underneath My Little Pony covers. The five and a half year olds sandy blonde curls go in ten different directions. She sits on the bed, just staring at the green-eyed little girl. She can't help but feel as if something is missing. Her mind starts to wander. She hears the covers rustle, and it shifts her focus back to reality. The little girl rolls onto her side, and her eyes fly open.

"Mommy!" She smiles.

"Abby!" She kisses her cheek.

"I missed you," she sits up, and hugs her neck.

"I missed you more."  
"Will you be here when I wake up?"  
"Yes," she promises, as she tucks the little girl under her covers.

She turns off the lamp, and leaves the room. She finds Harmon standing in the hallway waiting on her.

"I'm sorry," he tells her.

"Not as sorry as I am," she responds as she walks past him into the guestroom. He doesn't question her decision. He retires to the master bedroom.

She crawls into bed in the blandly decorated room. She pulls the covers over her head, and hopes that sleep will come. She spends hours staring at the clock, despite the fact that she knows exactly what time it is. The last thing she sees before sleep finally wins out is the glow of the red digits on the alarm clock. Sometime after drifting from consciousness she starts to dream.

* * *

_May 15__th__, 2013 _

_ It's nearly nine o'clock, and they're just leaving an ice cream shop. A little girl clings to Mac's hand, and eighteen month old rests on her hip. She watches closely as they step off the sidewalk into the parking lot. She keeps her eyes on the little girl in front of them. The four year old with long dark curls pulled into a pony tail stays close to them. She surveys her surroundings, and checks to see that none of the cars are moving. _

_ Their car is directly in front of them, in a space across the lot. They head towards the car. Halfway to the car another car backs out of its space. It comes towards them at an alarmingly fast rate of speed. They stop in their tracks. _

"_Libby!" Mac shouts, without a second thought she sets the toddler on the ground, and his sister takes his hand, and holds it tightly. The two of them stand frozen, on the sidewalk as she races towards her other daughter, who has turned back to look at her. The little girl hears a car, and looks up, and sees headlights moving towards her. She starts to run towards her mother, but it's too late. The far right side grill of the car hits her legs. Mac stands between the car, and the sidewalk, with her back to the other two children, blocking their view. _

_ She stands two feet from her child, completely helpless. She can only watch as the car speeds towards the exit of the parking lot. She hears the crunching of bone as the tires roll over the little girl. She looks up for a brief second, just long enough to see the driver. The car speeds away, and Mac just hovers over the lifeless body of her little girl as she bleeds out on the pavement. _

* * *

She jerks into consciousness, and sits straight up in the bed. She is drenched in sweat, and her heart is racing. She looks up, and finds a figure standing next to the bed.

"Go back to sleep," he whispers.

"Did I wake you?"

"Your screaming did," he admits.

"I'm sorry. Go back to bed."

"Scoot over," tells her.

"Harm…"

"Shove over," he insists.

She scoots over towards the wall. He climbs into the full sized bed, next to her. He wraps his arms around her, and holds her close. She squirms, trying to break free from his grip.

"What are you doing?" She questions.

"What I should have done all along. You're not alone," he reminds her.

She stops thrashing, and settles underneath the covers, wrapped in his arms. She presses her hand against his chest, and the tears flow like rain.

"I'm sorry," she tells him, "I'm so sorry."


	4. Gone Forever

She sits in the bathtub surrounded in bubbles. She can't remember the last time that she took a bath. She sits in the silence of the bathroom trying to calm herself down enough to sleep. She barely sleeps more than a couple of hours a night anymore. She exhales, and realizes that her water is now tepid. She pulls the plug, and wishes that her problems could circle the drain as easily as her used bath water. She climbs out of the tub, and wraps a towel around herself. She dries off, and pulls on a clean pair of pajamas. She doesn't even consider drying her hair. She brushes her teeth, and exits the bathroom. She steps into the hallway, and finds a pair of hazel eyes staring up at her.

A little boy wearing mismatched pajamas stands in front of her in silence. She squats down next to him, and wraps her arm around him. The hallway is only illuminated by a nightlight that is plugged into an outlet halfway down the hall. He wraps his arms around her, and squeezes her tightly. As she inhales she takes in the scent of his shampoo. She lifts him off the floor, and carries him back to his room. She peels back his covers, and nestles him underneath them. She lies down next to him.

"Mommy?"

"Caleb," she whispers, "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I heard a noise," he explains, "I thought it was a monster. It was just you."

"Am I a monster?"

He giggles, "No, mommy."

"Close your eyes and go to sleep," she cups his cheek with her hand.

"Mom?"

"Yes, son?"

"Where have you been?"

"Away."

"I missed you so much," he adds.

"I missed you too."

"Why did you go?"

"Can we talk about this later? It's late, and you need to go to sleep."

"Are you going to stay?"

"I'm not going to leave."

"Will you stay in here with me, please?" He begs.

She runs her fingers through his hair, and kisses the top of his head. "Okay," she agrees.

She lies next to him in his bed in silence. She watches him as he drifts off to consciousness. He clings to her as he sleeps. She feels too guilty to slip out of the bed. She closes her eyes, and listens to the clock on the wall tick.

In the morning she sees her daughter off to school. Harmon heads to the door dressed in a suit, and a tie. He hesitates in the doorway. She sits on the couch, watching cartoons with Caleb.

"Are you sure that you're okay? I can have Allie come watch him if you have things to do."

"I have nothing better to do."

"Okay," he nods, and exits the house.

She watches the door as it closes. She shifts her glance to the little boy sitting on the couch next to her. She forces a smile, and plants a kiss on his cheek.

"What are we going to do today?" She asks him.

"Watch Ninja Turtles," he informs her.

"You don't want to do anything special?"

"This is special," he tells her.

"We could go to the park," she suggests.

"I just want to stay home," he replies.

"Okay. What do you want for breakfast? I can make you pancakes, or French toast."

"I want Lucky Charms."

"I'll make you bunny pancakes."

"Mommy, I just want Lucky Charms."

"Okay," she nods in agreement.

He presses mute on the remote control, and shifts his glance away from the TV screen in front of them.

"Mommy I didn't think you were coming home."

"I'm sorry," she feels her heart shatter into a million pieces as she tries to figure out a way to explain her absence to him.

"Can we go home now?"

"We are home," she reminds him.

"Our old home," he continues.

"This is our home now, Caleb. We live here."

"I want to go home."

"Me, too."

"Why can't we go home?"

"It's not safe there," she explains.

"Is it safe here?"

"Of course."

"What happened to my sister?"

"Abby went to school," Mac reminds him.

"My other sister. What happened to her?"

Mac ignores the lump that forms in her throat. She swallows hard, and looks her son in the eyes.

"Caleb, Libby died."

"She went to heaven?"

"Yes," she nods.

"But why?"

She shakes her head, "I don't know why."

"Do you miss her?"

"Yes."

"Does it make you sad?"

"Yes."

He crawls onto her lap, "Don't be sad, mommy."

* * *

That evening once both of the kids are asleep Mac slips outside onto the back patio. She takes a seat at the picnic table, and stares out into the yard. She hears the sliding glass door open, but she doesn't turn to see who it is. She doesn't shift in her seat, or even care to bother to find out who it is. Harmon takes a seat next to her.

"You have to let it go," he tells her.

She doesn't respond to him. She stares at the swing set in their backyard.

"It's going to eat you alive, if you don't."

She shakes her head, and her cheeks burn with anger. Her nostrils flare as she turns to look at him.

"I can't let it go. Some psychopath fleeing from a crime scene killed our child. We had to leave the life that we knew. We had to give up everything, our home, our friends, our entire life, just to stay safe. I am so tired of just playing it safe. I want to go home. I don't want to be here anymore. I just wanted to end it all."

"Your life, or his?"

She breaks eye contact.

"You can't change what happened."

"It doesn't stop me from wanting to," she insists.

"You can't bring her back."

"How can you live life every day, and pretend like nothing ever happened? We had to beautiful daughters, and in the blink of an eye one of them was gone."

"I have to keep it together for Abby, and Caleb. Falling apart won't help them."

"I guess that I am the weak one."

"I never said that. Sarah, don't put words into my mouth."


	5. Character Flaws

"Don't put words in your mouth? Harm you made a split second decision that altered the entire course of our lives."

"I am not responsible. I am not the one who brought us here."

"No, the marshal service brought us here," she says bitterly.

"You know that he was just the tip of the ice burg."

"He killed our daughter," she reminds him.

"How does vengeance taste?" He raises his voice as he vacates his seat.

She turns, and watches him walk away. She grabs her water glass off the table, and throws it at the door just as he closes it.

"Screw you!" She screams.

* * *

_She sits on the swing set in their backyard in a black dress. Her cheeks are tearstained, and her heart is broken. Her husband takes a seat next to her. _

"_Mac there is something that I have to tell you."_

"_Whatever," she responds flatly._

"_The man driving the car that…" he trails, "hit Libby is one of the prime suspects in a murder investigation."_

"_Someone else's murder?" _

"_I am his defense counsel."_

"_He was wearing a uniform," she points out, "You are a civilian lawyer now."_

"_He is former military."_

"_I don't care who the hell he is."_

"_He is suspected of killing eleven women in the past three years."_

"_Is it worth it?"_

_He furrows his brow, "What are you talking about?"_

"_Your new car, this house, is it worth our daughter's life?"_

"_It was an accident."_

"_It doesn't matter," she argues, raising her voice._

"_He is accused of raping, and killing eleven women, and assassinating twenty two other people."_

"_Why are you defending him? He killed our child."_

"_I didn't know. He retained me to defend him against an assault charge that he truly was not guilty of. He was impressed with my work, and asked me to represent him in another matter. When I found out the truth I dropped him as a client."_

"_Do you think that he deliberately killed our daughter?"_

"_No, Mac."_

"_Who did he assassinate?"_

"_It doesn't matter."_

"_Why are you telling me all of this?"_

"_Because you got a good look at him. When you described them to the sketch artist they knew exactly who you were talking about."_

"_Why isn't he in custody?"_

"_He is in the wind, but he probably got a good look at you too."_

"_Why does it matter?"_

"_He is ruthless. He will kill you, and…"_

_She cuts him off, "So let him."_

"_You don't mean that," he argues._

"_You don't know what I mean."_

"_The marshals are here…" he begins._

"_Excuse me?"_

"_The US Marshal Service is here, we are being relocated."_

"_Relocated? I am up for promotion in a few months. We just lost a child, and you want to uproot our entire family?" She asks, wiping the tears from her face. _

"_It is to protect them."_

"_You expect me to give up everything after what has just happened?"_

"_It's for our family," he reminds her._

* * *

She heads to the door in her bare feet. She doesn't wince as she walks through shards of glass. She makes no attempts to avoid them either. She hesitates at the door. She knows that she should go inside, and try to put the pieces of her life back together. She proceeds to turn, and walk away. She walks away from the house. She pushes the gate open, and slams it behind her as she steps onto the walk way. She walks around the side of the house into the driveway. She turns towards the street. She's nearly to the curb when she feels fingers wrap around her bare arm.

"Where are you going?" She spins around, and stares at him with a hollow look in her eyes. She shakes her head, and frees herself from his grip. She exhales, and swallows hard to keep herself from crying.

"Let me go," she begs.

"I am not ready to let you go."

"I can't hold on any longer," she tells him.

"What am I supposed to tell the kids?"

"Whatever the hell will help you sleep at night," she growls.

"Sarah, don't do this."

A single tear trails down her cheek, "Tell them I died."

"I am not going to tell them that. Are you really telling me that you're going to walk away from them? After the way that you felt when your mother walked out on you?"

"They have you. I didn't have anybody."

"That doesn't make it okay."

"Until recently I never considered that my mother did me a favor. She walked away so I could have a chance."

"With your abusive, alcoholic father?"

"I was better off without her."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it's true. If she had stuck around I probably would have repeated the mistakes of the past. I would have gotten knocked up, and married some abusive alcoholic."

He shakes his head, "Sarah, _you_ are the abusive alcoholic."

"You're absolutely right," she agrees.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because they are better off without me. I am not good enough for them."

"You have made mistakes, but you are only human."

"You have no idea what mistakes I've made."

"How could I? You never let me in."

"I am trying to protect you."

"From what?"

"I am dead inside. I don't feel anything anymore."

"I don't believe you."

"I killed a man, and I felt nothing. I didn't feel remorse, or guilt, or even relief. I didn't feel a damn thing."

"When was the last time that you saw your therapist?"

"It's a waste of your time, and money," she tells him.

"How can you say that? Does the idea of our children growing up without a mother not bother you?"

"You would rather them grow up around me, than without anyone at all?"

"Yes," he nods in confirmation.

"Harm," she places her hand against his chest, "You have no idea the depth, or the breadth of the mistakes that I have made. You think that you know what sins I've committed, but you don't. You haven't the slightest clue."

"Tell me," he begs, trying to hold onto what is left of her.


	6. Get Off On The Pain

She grits her teeth as she stares at his face. His body is illuminated by the motion light that is beaming out towards them from the garage. She swallows hard.

"Do you have any idea how deep the bottom of the hole is?"

"Give me an idea."

She nods, "You thought that I went on a six month bender, right?"

"That is what you said."

"I am better at hiding things than you are," she reminds him.

"How long was it?"

"A year. It was a year."

"Why didn't you ask for help?"

"You never heard me when I did," she points out.

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just be a man. Take care of them."

"Yesterday you wanted to be here with them, why the sudden one eighty?"

"They deserve better."

"Were you lying when you said that you were sober?"

"No," she shakes her head.

"That is the first step. We can build on that."

She shakes her head, "Everything we have is built on lies."

"Are you talking about the program?"

"I am talking about everything, from day one."

"I don't understand."

"And you never will," she tells him.

"Why are you on such a self-destructive path?"

"It is all my fault."

"How is any of this your fault?"

"Just trust me when I say that it is."

He tucks a clump of stray hair behind her ear. His hand rests against her cheek bone. AS he scrutinizes her he realizes that she's got more gray hair than he remembers. Her face has more lines that it used to. She looks older than he remembers her. Her dark eyes lack any flicker of emotion. Her face is void of color. Her nails are nearly chewed down to the nubs.

"Talk to me," he begs.

"It was just one shot," she begins.

"That is usually how it begins," he recalls.

"And then another. Before I knew it, it was an entire bottle before lunch, and another before bed. There came a point when it didn't matter how much I drank it still hurt. I couldn't drink the pain away."

* * *

_They've been in Las Vegas for a few months, and the city of sin has finally sunk its gnarly teeth into her. It's nine o'clock, and she is supposed to be at the grocery store picking up a gallon of milk while her husband puts their children in bed. She doesn't live in the city, and she certainly has no reason to be on the strip, y__et here she is. She sits at the bar, but the booze don't seem to be improving her mood. She heads onto the dance floor. A handsome young man with dark hair, and green eyes starts dancing with her. She doesn't push him away when he starts grinding against her. She turns to face him._

"_Hey mama, you want something to take the edge off?"_

_She smiles, and he leads her off the dance floor into the lobby. She follows him into the elevator, and they jump off on the ninth floor. By the time they reach the door she's kissing his neck. She tugs at the buttons on his shirt as he tries to fish the room key out of his pocket. _

_ They enter the room, and he pulls a baggy out of his pocket. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed. She watches as he snorts a line of cocaine. He hands the rolled bill to her. She doesn't hesitate. After a few lines his eyes lock in on her. _

_ She rips his shirt as she pulls it off of him. She feels her heart racing. She feels too impatient to wait. She unbuckles his belt, and throws it on the ground. She tries to hurry the process along. She loses her balance, and they end up off the bed. He pushes her against the wall, and she doesn't try to stop the complete stranger. _

* * *

"Sarah?"

"There are a lot of things that I never told you."

"For example?"

She shakes her head, "Just forget it."

"When I picked you up the other night, you smelled like stale cigarettes."

"What did you expect?"

"Please talk to me."

"What do you want to hear?"

"The truth," he answers.

"It was supposed to be a fresh start. We were supposed to get a clean slate. The house we own is paid for. You have a great job, and I get to stay home with the kids, just like wanted. The only problem is that the picture's not perfect. We may have left our home, but our problems followed us. All of my demons packed their bags and joined us on the trip."

"Sarah we will get through this."

"You are okay being married to an alcoholic."

"You're sober."

"I will always be an alcoholic," she reminds him.

"How did you get sober? AA?"

"I needed more than AA."

"How did you get sober?"

"Rehab," she tells him.

He furrows his brow, "What? When did you go to rehab?"

"Months ago."

"I thought that last time you stopped cold turkey."

"You can't stop cold turkey when you have more chemicals in you than a pharmaceutical company does."

"What are you talking about?"

"It wasn't just alcohol. Alcohol wasn't enough."

"What else were you doing?" He squints.

"Cocaine, ecstasy, benzos, alcohol, opiates, basically anything that I could get my hands on."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"No," she shakes her head.

"How did you pay for all of that? You left here like two hundred bucks. You didn't have a credit card, or a check book."

"How do you think?"

"I don't know. That is what I'm asking you."

"It's the oldest profession in the book."

He shakes his head, "You're telling me that you were selling yourself?"

"That is what I'm telling you."

"For drugs?"

"Yes."

"Which ones?"

"All of them," she responds.

"What do you mean by all of them?"

"I tried all of them."

"That you could ingest?"

"Ingest, digest, smoke, snort, or shoot."

"Shoot? I can't imagine you shooting up."

"There are a lot of things that you can't imagine."

"You have got to be kidding me, right? Tell me that you're making this up."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"I thought that you should know."


	7. Smoke Rings In The Dark

"If you just want to walk away from our marriage, and our kids, then why are you telling me any of this? Why does it matter?"

Mac takes a step closer to him. She takes a deep breath, and presses her lips against his ear.

"Why do you think?"

"Mac," he exhales in frustration.

She takes a step back, folding her arms across her chest. "No one can help me now."

"Sarah, I want to help you."

"You have no idea how to help me," she turns and walks away. He watches her walk away. She pulls a cellphone out of her pocket at the edge of the drive, and dials someone. He retreats to the house. He watches from the window as she climbs into the passenger's seat of a G-class Mercedes in black. His sulking is interrupted by the sound of a little voice.

"Daddy?"

He turns around, and finds his son standing behind him. He grins, vacating his seat. He scoops Caleb up.

"Hey, champ."

"Where is mommy?"

He shrugs, "I don't know buddy."

"Is she coming home?"

"Cale, I don't know."

"Why does she keep leaving us? I want her back."

He hugs him close to his body. He kisses his cheek, "Me, too."

"I miss mommy. I want my mommy."

"Come, I'll tuck you back into bed."

He pushes Harm's arms away. "I don't want you," he announces, defiantly as he wiggles free. He jumps onto the floor. He stomps towards the stairs.

"I want mommy!"

"Caleb, she's not here. You've got me."

"I don't want you," he snarls as he races up the stairs.

Harm takes a seat on the bottom step, feeling defeated. He takes a few moments to collect himself, and then he climbs the stairs to Caleb's room. He pushes the door open, and walks towards his son, who sits on the bed, on top of the covers.

"Can I tuck you in, now?"

"No."

"Please?"

Caleb crawls underneath the covers own his own volition. He reaches his hand underneath his pillow, and pulls out a lanyard.

"What's that?" Harmon questions.

"I found it on the floor," Caleb answers, as he hands it to Harm.

Harm studies the keycard attached to the end of the lanyard. He furrows his brow in confusion. The card has a magnetic strip. The front of the card is pretty generic. The front is navy blue in color, with gold lettering. The lettering reads; Manderley Real Estate. There is a name printed underneath in black lettering, that reads; Mackenzie Ragle. Harm furrows his brow, and kisses his son on the forehead.

"Caleb, can I have this?"

"No, it is mommy's. She told me to keep it safe."

"It will be safe with me, I promise."

"Daddy why did mommy leave us?"

Harm stares into his son's hazel eyes. He contemplates the question, and carefully formulates an age appropriate answer.

"I think that your mommy just needed a time out."

"From us? Did I do something wrong?"

"No chief, you didn't."

"So why did she need a time out? Did she do something wrong?"

"She needed some time to think."

"About what?"

"I think that your mom gets sad sometimes, and she doesn't always want us to see."

"I get sad sometimes, but then I come find you."

"I know."

"Do you think she is sad about my sister?"

"Yes. I think that she is very sad about your sister."

"Daddy?"

"Huh?"

"What happened to Libby?"

"She went to heaven."

He shakes his head, "But how?"

"That, my boy, is a story for another day."

"Okay."

"I love you. It's time for bed."

"Night, love you."

Harm vacates his bed, and heads for the door. He turns off the light. He is nearly out the door when he hears Caleb say something.

"Dad."

He turns around, in the doorway, and looks at his son, "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry I was grouchy," he explains, "I just miss mommy."

"I know. All is forgiven."

He heads down the hallway, and peeks in on his daughter. He enters the room, and finds her sound asleep. He kisses her on the cheek, and goes to his own room. He flips on the lamp sitting on the bedside stand. He takes a seat at the end of the bed. He studies the identification badge in his hand. He tries to wrap his head around what he's seeing. He attempts to process his wife's behavior. He shakes his head in frustration. He doesn't know if what she's said is true. After all, most of her behavior since their move to Las Vegas has been erratic, and inconsistent with her character. He tries to sift fact from fiction, but the truth is, he can't. His wife has become a stranger to him. After their daughter's death she sunk into a deep depression. Every time he looked at her he could see the anger in her eyes, and the resentment she felt towards him. He wants so badly to understand. He wants to help her. He asks himself if he can. Maybe it's too late. He thinks of his two children. It is his duty to protect them. They come first, he reminds himself. His heart sinks, and his glance once again shifts to the identification badge in his hand.

Mackenzie Ragle? Her last name as her first, and her first husband's name as her last. She didn't even use that name when she was married to Chris. He feels his head starting to spin. Nothing makes sense. His head begins to throb. He takes a deep breath, and decides to focus on other details of the badge. He studies the name of the company. Something buried within the cobwebs of his mind calls out to him. A spark in the dark begins as his neuron's fire. A lightbulb comes on after some time. He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out his telephone. He unlocks the screen, and begins dialing.


	8. Chapter 8

He feels his heart racing as the phone rings. He wonders if the party on the other end of the line will actually answer him, since his number is blocked. He wonders if this number even belongs to the same person anymore. Finally he hears someone pick up.

"You shouldn't be contacting me," the voice on the other end warns him.

"It's about Sarah."

"I'm sorry, I can't help you," he says, coldly.

"She's in trouble," he insists.

"How do you know that?"

"She came in from the dark."

"And?"

"She left her I.D. badge with our son. The ID badge with fake credentials for a fake company."

"What do you think that I have to do with any of this?"

"Manderley Real Esatate. Does that mean anything to you?"

"Should it?"

"Stop playing games with me. She left here in black Mercedes in bare feet. I don't know what the hell is going on with her, but the other day I had to pick her up from the police department for murdering someone."

"Why are you telling me this? She is your wife."

"She has been MIA for six months."

"Why are you telling me this? What do you think that I have to do with any of this?"

"Stop playing games. Just tell me what is going on, Clayton."

"I wish that I could, but it is classified."

"She is in distress. Do you hear me? Something is wrong."

* * *

She sits at the bar, staring blankly at the perspiring glass in her hand. She tunes out the sound of the music playing in the background. She pulls a bill out of her purse, and places it on the bar. She makes eye contact with the bartender, and turns to leave. The smell of stale cigarettes surrounds her. Her shoes stick to the surface of the floor. She heads to the door. Once she reaches the door she doesn't hesitate. She exits the bar, and pulls her car keys out of her purse. She climbs into a black range rover. She slams the door, and puts the key in the ignition. She doesn't reach for her seat belt. She reaches under her seat, and wraps her fingers around a cold, metallic object. She carefully slips it into her lap. She grips the gun tightly as a hand presses against her mouth.

"Don't scream," he warns.

The younger man with thick, muscular arms, dark hair, and green eyes sits behind her, with his hand across her mouth. She can feel him breathing. She can hear his heart beating. His lips brush against her ear.

"You can't hide from me. You know that you have to pay. You murdered my number two in command."

She pushes his hand away, "Let me explain."

"How can you possibly explain?"

"He was playing you."

"How can I trust what you're saying? He has been down with me for years."

"He was about to make a deal with the guys from third street pub."

"How do you know that?"

"He told me."

"What would possess him to do that?"

"I persuaded him," she explains, sliding her gun out of sight under, her leg.

He moves, sliding over the console into the passenger's seat.

"You are supposed to be my girl," he points out.

She scoffs, "Me, and how many others?"

"It's not like that."

"Explain to me how it is okay for you to disappear for weeks at a time, but if I am gone a couple of days, you're ready to put a bullet in my brain?"

"I was away on business."

"So was I."

"What business do you have?"

"It was a real estate deal," she points out.

"What real estate deal? Why didn't I hear about this?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Don't keep me in suspense," he warns.

"I was able to acquire the property that we talked about last week."

"How?"

"Don't worry about it. You told me to do it by whatever means necessary, so I did."

"I have one more property that I need you to get for me."

She shakes her head, "That was not the deal."

"If you want out, you have to do this one last thing."

"I don't believe you."

"Why do you want out so badly?"

"I have changed."

"I knew that you never should have gone to rehab. I knew that they would fill your head full of lies, and you would start to believe the bullshit they fed you."

"Jensen, you wouldn't understand."

"I am a business man, and you are screwing with my business. I don't appreciate that. Obviously, we are both a little tense. Why don't we table this discussion?"

"You broke into my car, with the intention of ending our relationship in a completely irreversible manner."

"I need you. Let me show you that."

"I just want to go home."

"Why don't we go to your place, and we'll just relax? I have just enough for a few cocktails. We'll share a few cocktails, and then we can spend some quality time together."

"How many times do I need to tell you that I'm clean? I am not interested in any kind of cocktail that you are offering."

"I sent you to rehab to break my boy out, not to get clean. My business partner is dead, you murdered him, and now you're clean. What fun is that?"

"You want me high so that you can control me. I am tired of being used."

"Says the woman who screwed me to make her husband jealous."

"Please get out of my car."

"Your car? Bitch, I brought you the business that paid for this car."

She slips her gun into her purse. She removes the keys from the ignition, and tosses them onto his lap. She pushes the door open, and exits the vehicle.


	9. Chapter 9

She calls a cab, and heads back to her house. She opens the door to her million dollar home, and her slams the door behind her. She tosses her keys on the table, and climbs the stairs to her room. She peels off her clothes, and makes a beeline for the bathroom. She turns on the water, and watches as it fills the tub. Eventually she turns off the faucet, and sinks to her nose in a bubble bath. She has just began to relax when she hears her front door open. She stares at the closed bathroom door. She feels her pulse quicken as someone climbs the stairs. She watches as the doorknob begins to twist. She doesn't move a muscle as the door begins to open. A familiar figure enters the room, and closes the door.

"You shouldn't be here," she tells him.

"I got a call."

"Not from me," she points out.

"I'm here," he tells her, as he leans against the claw foot tub.

"I need to be extracted," she reveals to him.

"We are only ninety percent complete," he reminds her.

"We are out of time."

"What makes you think that?"

"My phone calls are being recorded. Every move that I make is being tracked."

"That is why you went incommunicado?"

"I had no choice."

"Sarah, what's going on?"

She points to a book sitting on her bathroom counter, "Clayton all of the information that you need is there."

"This wasn't our agreement," he points out.

"I'll be dead by morning. It will look like an accident."

He furrows his brow, "You're wrong."

"The carbon monoxide detectors have been replaced with dummies."

"I need you to tell me what is going on."

"He knows. Jensen knows."

"Knows what?"

"That I killed him."

"What did you say to him?"

"I lied. He didn't buy it. Clayton, the stakes have changed."

"What do you mean?"

"Enough is enough. I can't do this anymore. I got what you asked me to get. The mission is complete."

"Where is this coming from? You don't scare easily."

"Do you know what I had to do to get this information?"

"I said by any means necessary," he recalls.

"I went to rehab for ninety days."

"I know, and you were convincing."

"Because I wasn't lying."

"I know that it was tough. I know your history. No one else could have pulled this off."

"Get me out of here," she insists.

* * *

_She sits in a room, wearing a pair of yoga pants, and a hooded sweatshirt. She hears the door open, and swoosh closed. A nurse enters the room, and takes a seat, across the table from her. She smiles, and extends her hand._

"_I'm Halle. I'll be your nurse today," she grins, as she makes eye contact with Sarah._

"_I'm Mackenzie, nice to meet you."_

"_Is that what you go by?"_

"_Mac," she clarifies._

"_Mac we are glad that you are here with us. I know that it can be scary at first, but I assure you that you have nothing to worry about. I would like to ask you some questions. We ask that you be as honest as possible in order for us to develop an accurate plan of treatment for you."_

"_Understood."_

"_Are you married?"_

"_No," she lies._

"_Children?"_

"_No," she continues with the charade._

"_What is your current living arrangement?"_

"_I live alone."_

"_Any military history."_

_She swallows hard, recalling the details of her cover story. A cover story crafted by Clayton Webb himself, in order to be close to her own life, so that it would be believable. She nods, "Yes. I retired after twenty years."_

"_What did you do in the military?"_

"_That is classified," she feigns a smile._

"_Are you currently employed?"_

"_I am a real estate agent."_

"_In your own words what would you say brought you in here today?"_

"_I am an alcoholic, and…" she tails off. _

"_You didn't have any alcohol in your system," Halle mentions._

"_It doesn't work anymore, I guess that I have moved on."_

"_What do you mean that it doesn't work anymore?"_

"_There was an accident," she begins._

"_I understand."_

"_I would prefer not to talk about it," she adds._

"_Okay," she nods, "After this accident you started using other substances, is that correct?"_

"_Yes," she nods, "For the past month or so. I have used anything imaginable. It started with cocaine. I tried nearly everything, except methamphetamine. I got tired of snorting, and smoking. I tried heroin, but I didn't like shooting up. Eventually I landed on benzo's. It takes the edge off."_

"_You have prescription. Have you been getting them off the street, as well?"_

"_Yes."_

"_What made you decide to seek treatment?"_

"_I don't remember most of the past several weeks. Every time I stopped feeling numb I would do something. It was nothing for me to shoot a gram of heroin, and then take a handful of benzo's, and some alcohol, and top it off with some cocaine at the end of the day. It had gotten pretty out of hand. I woke up one morning in a puddle of my own vomit, with absolutely no recollection of how I got home. I looked at myself in the mirror that morning, and I looked like death warmed over. I knew if I kept going that I would end up dead, soon. I'm not ready to die, yet. I just had to go somewhere very deep, and dark to realize that."_

"_Your toxicology report was only positive for benzodiazepines," Halle reveals._

"_I have stopped taking everything else, but I just can't cope without them."_


	10. Chapter 10

She sits at a twenty four hour diner, with Clayton. His team has successfully completed their mission, thanks to Sarah. He watches her as she stares past him. He glances at her untouched cup of coffee.

"Mac?"

She looks up at him, "Huh?"

"Talk to me. I need you to talk to me. What is going on?"

"I asked you for help. I wanted closure, and you offered me that opportunity."

"And, at what cost?"

"You were able to disassemble a terrorist organization."

"I have a feeling that I disassembled more than that."

* * *

_She wakes up in a hotel room, lying in bed with a man that she has just met. She lies under the covers naked. She feels the drugs beginning to wear off, and she begins to regret her decision. She wriggles out from under his arm, and climbs out of bed. She leans forward, reaching for her clothes._

"_Where are you going?" He questions._

"_I think that this was a mistake."_

"_You come highly recommended."_

"_I don't think that I am what you are looking for."_

"_Mackenzie, please, just hear me out," Jensen insists._

_She slips on her panties, and puts his button down shirt on. She takes a seat on the edge of the bed as he shifts into a sitting position._

"_How long has it been?"_

_She furrows her brow, "Since?"_

"_Since you have felt like you have been able to contribute to the cause?"_

"_A long time."_

"_What made you decide to veer from the straight and narrow?"_

"_My husband died, and I realized that life is fragile. I want to make a difference."_

"_Tell me how does a woman with your background, who speaks Farsi end up with such an American name?"_

"_My grandmother came to this country, and wanted her children to live a traditional American existence. I am not the only one with a name that does not pay homage to my heritage."_

"_My mother's family has been here for five generations, they are Scandinavian."_

* * *

"How did you manage to keep your cover for so long?"

"I lied, a lot."

"You spent weeks with the guy in rehab."

"I realized that he wasn't looking at me. He never saw me."

"How did he figure it out?"

"I don't know."

"Sarah, are you okay?"

She shrugs, "Why do you ask?"

"You haven't touched your coffee."

"I'm not really in the mood."

"What are you going to do, now?"

"The damage that has been done is completely irreparable."

"You don't know that."

"I broke my vows. I have done a lot of damage."

"Just tell him the truth."

She shakes her head, "Clayton, no one wants to hear the truth."

"I know the truth, and I am going to bury it so deep that you get to move on with your life."

"It is never going to be the same. I can't go back. My relationship with Harm, with my kids is damaged. I can't go home."

"It's over," he insists.

"I don't think that I can fix this. The best thing for me to do is walk away."

"You did this so that you could give your children the life that you wanted them to have. You told me that you had to do this for Libby. You can move home, and start fresh."

"My daughter was thoughtlessly murdered in front of my eyes. I couldn't save her, and I can't bring her back. When we moved here I was so filled with anger that I would have done anything to get revenge. I made choices that I can't take back. I am not the wife, or mother that my husband, and children need. They deserve a lot better."

"Let me take you home."

"I can't go home."

"Sarah he still loves you."

"And I love him."

"Then why don't you want to go home?"

"Because things are never going to be the same between us. He is never going to trust me again. Why should he?"

"You did this for them."

"I hurt them. Every day for the rest of my life I have to live with the fact that I made a terrible situation even worse."

"I am taking you home."

* * *

Clayton escorts her to the door. He hugs her, and then knocks on the door. He is in his vehicle before the door opens. Harm pulls the door open, and finds Sarah standing in front of him. He steps outside, and wraps his arms around her. He holds her tightly for several moments. Clayton backs out of the driveway. He inhales, and takes in the smell of her hair. Eventually she wiggles free of his embrace.

"I didn't think I would ever see you again," he admits.

"Harm, I'm not here to stay."

He furrows his brow, "We can start over."

She shakes her head, "No. We're going to get divorced, and I am going to give you primary custody of the kids."

"You don't want that."

"I want what is best."

"Sarah, come inside," he begs her.

"I am here to talk. I want to be honest with you. I will explain everything to you."

"I appreciate that."

"When I am done, I have to go."

"The kids need you."

"Please don't make this harder than it has to be," she begs him, staring up at him with her big brown eyes. A lump begins to form in her throat. He nods in agreement.


	11. Chapter 11

She follows him into the house, and he closes the door behind her. He leads her into the dining room, and offers her a beverage. She declines, and he suggests that they sit down. He studies her closely. He notes her attire consists of a pair of blue jeans, and a loose fitting black long sleeved shirt. Her body language tells him that she is nervous. He takes a seat at the head of the table, and she sits to his right. He makes eye contact with her. She quickly looks away. The dark circles under her eyes tell him that she hasn't been sleeping much. Her behavior suggests that what she has to say is not anything positive. She places a hand on the table, as she mentally prepares herself for what she must tell him. He reaches out, and takes her hand in his, as an effort to reassure her. Finally, she clears her throat, and begins to speak.

"After we moved here I was angry most of the time. The rest of the time I was consumed with guilt, because I was there when Libby died, and I couldn't do anything to stop it. After a while I reached out to Clayton. I found out that the man who killed our daughter was actually associated with a home grown group of terrorists. This group consisted of former military personnel. All of them had family who had emigrated from the middle East. They were all raised with traditional American values. Unfortunately at some point along the line each of them developed a deep hatred of American values, and culture, especially women. I found out much later that the leader of the group, a man named Jensen Holmes was involved in a plethora of illegal activity with the intent on raising funds in order to bomb at least a dozen American consulates in different countries, and ten major US cities on the same day."

"How did you find out all of this information?"

"I had to offer my services to Jensen."

"Services?"

"The gain of capital through the buying, and selling of high end real estate. Buy low, and sell high."

"How close?"

"Too close," she explains.

"Just tell me."

"I slept with him."

He nods, but says nothing.

"I did a lot of things that I am not proud of. I just wanted to catch the man who killed our daughter, but once I started finding out what the bigger picture was, I had to stay the course. I didn't want any other parent to lose a child because of them. I allowed myself to get in too deep."

"You killed him. Were you successful with the mission assigned to you?"

"Twenty members of the cell were captured."

"Out of how many?"

"Twenty three."

"Did they get the leader of the group?"

"Yes."

"At what cost?" He asks the inevitable question.

"I broke our vows. I slept with him. I felt that it was necessary to get the information."

"What you told me before, was that true, too?"

"Drug trafficking was one of the ways that the organization made money."

"Is what you told me true?"

"Yes," she nods.

"Unbelievable."

"There is no excuse for what I did."

"Are you really sober?"

"I've been sober for nearly four months."

"How do I know that you're going to stay sober?"

"Does it matter? Harm I can't stay here."

"These kids need their mom."

"I don't think that is the best thing for them."

"Why not? What aren't you telling me?"

* * *

_After seven weeks undercover Mac finds herself in a drug rehabilitation center. She spends days being detoxed from the drugs in her system. After the discomfort, and withdrawal symptoms begin to subside she begins to attend therapy. After three weeks Jensen comes to visit her. He brings her food, and stays and visits for a while. The following afternoon the nurse comes to get Mac. She knocks on the door, and enters the room. She finds that she isn't in her bed. She finds her in the bathroom. She knocks on the door._

"_Mac are you okay in there? Therapy is getting ready to start."_

_She elicits no response. She opens the door, to check on her. She finds her sitting on the floor of the bathroom, with her head in the toilet. Once she finishes vomiting the nurse hands her a cold wash cloth. Mac rises to her feet. _

"_How long ago did this start?"_

"_A while ago."_

"_Did your visitor bring you something?"_

"_Food," she answers._

"_Was there something in the food?"_

"_No."_

"_Are you sure that he didn't slip you something?"_

"_I..." she shrugs, "I wouldn't put it past him."_

"_We're going to get your vital signs, and…"_

_Mac rolls her eyes, "I am guessing that I have earned myself a drug test?"_

"_Yep," she nods. _

_ An hour later, the staff is still waiting on the results of the testing. The psychiatrist finds Mac in her room, sitting in her bed._

"_I heard that you're having a rough afternoon," the psychiatrist opens._

"_I didn't take anything. I think that it was breakfast," Sarah insists._

_The psychiatrist takes a seat, "Mac do you know why the facility employees a psychiatrist?"_

"_Something about dual diagnosis."_

"_That is why I check in on you from time to time."_

"_I understand."_

"_How do you feel things are going?"_

"_As well as can be expected, I guess."_

"_I would like to revisit the topic that we discussed during our last encounter."_

"_I don't want to take an anti-depressant."_

* * *

"Where is all of this going?" Harm questions after her explanation.

"I am not done yet."

"I don't disagree with the psychiatrist. I think that you would benefit from an anti-depressant. Are you taking one now? Is that why you've been able to maintain sobriety?"

"I am not taking one now."

"Did you take one?"

"No. I couldn't."

"For what reason? You object to psychiatric medication?"

"No," she shakes her head.


	12. Chapter 12

_ The nurse knocks on the door, as the psychiatrist talks to Mac. The psychiatrist looks up at the nurse. _

"_Jenny can you come back?"_

"_Doctor Larkin I need to speak with you for a moment on an important matter."_

"_I see," he turns towards Mac, "Excuse me for just a moment."_

_He exits the room, and joins the nurse in the hallway. _

"_The lab results just came back," she explains._

"_You didn't have to pull me out for that," he tells her._

_She hands him a manila folder, "I think that you should look at these before you continue your conversation. I know that you would like to start her on an antidepressant, but this offers information you may want to consider first."_

_He nods, and opens the manila folder. He thumbs through the results. He returns the manila folder to the nurse. _

"_Thank you. I'm glad that you updated me. I appreciate that."_

_Jenny nods, and the psychiatrist returns to Mac's room. He returns to his seat. _

"_Jenny was just updating me about your lab results."_

"_I didn't take anything," Mac insists, adamantly._

"_I know. Your toxicology report showed that."_

"_Is that so shocking? I don't understand why she had to tell you that at this particular point."_

"_A lot of tests can be run from a urine sample. You have been here for a while, so I thought we would get some updated labs along with the urine drug screening."_

"_Okay."_

"_The nurse reported to me that you started vomiting earlier today."_

"_Yes," she nods in confirmation, "That is why you assumed that I took something, I am guessing."_

"_Right," he nods, "It can also be in reaction to medication, but you aren't taking any medication, other than an occasional Tylenol, according to your records."_

"_I am sure that I will be fine tomorrow. I think that it was just something I ate. My breakfast didn't set well with me."_

"_It wasn't your breakfast."_

"_How do you know?"_

"_Because one of your other urine tests came back positive."_

"_I thought that you said my drug screen was negative."_

"_It was."_

"_You lost me," she admits._

"_Did the nursing staff explain to you what lab testing we perform upon admission here?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Do you recall what tests they use the urine for?"_

_She thinks back, "A drug test, a urinalysis, and…" she furrows her brow, "there was a third one."_

"_A urine pregnancy test."_

"_When I came in the drug test was positive for benzodiazepines. Everything else was fine."_

"_It takes at least a couple of weeks past conception for a urine pregnancy test to be able to detect pregnancy."_

"_What are you telling me?"_

"_You're pregnant."_

"_That isn't possible," she argues._

"_Have you been sexually active?"_

"_Yes," she nods in confirmation, "but I have endometriosis."_

"_That doesn't always eliminate the possibility of conception."_

_She shakes her head, "You don't understand."_

"_Understand what?"_

"_I underwent seven cycles of IVF."_

"_They were all unsuccessful?"_

"_Yes," she lies._

* * *

Harm stares at her, in silence. He scrutinizes her facial expression, and waits for her to deliver a punch line. Her facial expression doesn't change. He swallows hard.

"That is a lot to take in," he admits.

"I know."

"I don't know what to say to that."

"You don't have to say anything."

"How did this happen? How did we grow so far apart, that you thought that you had to do this on your own? Why did you think that I wouldn't want to help you find the person who killed our daughter?"

"I had to do this on my own."

"No, you didn't. That is why we have struggled for our entire relationship. You always think that you have to do things on your own. I am right here beside you. When are you going to realize that?"

"You wanted to play it safe, and I understand that. You wanted to protect our children, but I needed closure."

"I would have helped you."

"I am sorry. I don't know what to say. There is nothing that I can say to make this any better."

"Do you want a divorce?" He asks her frankly.

"I want you to have the opportunity to move on. I am not going to ask you to stay married to me. I have not been a good spouse. I broke our vows, and I abandoned our children. You deserve better. You deserve to be happy. I want you to move on, and be happy."

"The kids need you. I need you."

"You don't need me."

"What did you do?"

She furrows her brow, "I just told you."

He shakes his head, "About the pregnancy?"

She breaks eye contact. She stares at the surface of the dining room table.

"Mac?"

She doesn't answer him.

"Sarah? Did you tell the guy?"

"No," she answers solemnly.

"Did you tell Clayton?"

"No. I am telling you."

"Why are you telling me?"

"Because you are the only one that I owe an explanation to. I feel obligated to explain where I have been, and why I have been gone for all of this time. I know that you won't understand. I know that our children will never understand, either. I had to do this for our daughter."

"I do understand. The fact that you don't see that is what upsets me the most. Why can't you just communicate to me? All of that time, I wondered where you were, and what you were doing. I barely heard from you at all. Some nights I laid in bed wondering if you were dead in a ditch somewhere."


	13. Days Go By

She lies in her bed, nestled underneath a pile of covers. The room is silent, and dark, but sleep escapes her. She lies on her side, staring at the alarm clock positioned on a table next to her bed. Her heart pounds in her ears. Her anxiety will not be mollified. Her guilt will not easily be relieved. Her burden refuses to be lifted. She thinks about what has lead her here to this lonely place.

There was a family, who she never thought she would have. Standing next to her, side, by side, for so long was a husband, who knew her better than anyone else. Three precious, beautiful, innocent babies. One life cut far too short. Then came the unquenchable anger that she wanted to spew. It consumed her, and it still does. She doesn't know how to let it go. A kick to the ribs brings her back into reality.

She reaches over, and turns on the lamp. She sits up, and looks around the room. She is right back where she started, alone. A second passes, and she exhales, and it occurs to her once again that she is not alone. She hasn't been alone for some time. She has torn her family apart by refusing to ask for help, or give up on securing justice for her daughter. Or was it revenge? She can't tell anymore. At home she has left a husband, and two small children. In the center of the storm is her, and a womb that isn't empty.

She feels an emptiness inside of her that she isn't sure can be filled. She leans forward, and opens the drawer of the bedside stand. A metallic object stares up at her. She pushes the weapon to the side, and pulls out her phone. She dials a few numbers, but then she stops. She deletes the numbers on a screen, and then dials someone else.

Twenty minutes later someone is beating on her hotel room door. She pulls the door open, without checking the peephole. He enters the room, and she closes the door behind him. He embraces her, and she chokes back tears. He softly whispers her name, "Mac?"

She lets go of him, and takes a step back. She answers the questions that his eyes ask her, "I'm not okay."

"I know."

"Clayton, I took everything that I had, and I threw it into a blender, and then walked away."

"You are the only one who can make the decisions here, Sarah."

"I walked away from my family. I made choices that are absolutely appalling. I let my anger, and my grief consume me."

"Do you want me to take you to a meeting?"

She shakes her head, "I want you to tell me how I fix this."

"I don't think that you can," he allows the harsh truth to fall from his lips.

"I know."

"Do you love him?"

"I always have, but is that enough? After everything that I have put him through? My son, and my daughter will never trust that I am not just going to walk out on them. I can't fix that. I can't get that time back."

"The only time is the present. Tell me what you want to do."

"I want my family to get to go home. With, or without me."

He nods in agreement, "I'll take care of it."

* * *

It is getting late, and he has just gotten his kids to bed. It has been over a month since they have returned to a suburb outside of D.C. He pushes the curtains aside, and glances out his window. Every evening he wishes that her car would pull into the driveway. The driveway is empty. His car is parked inside the garage. He looks across the street, and finds someone in athletic apparel running down the sidewalk. Without a second thought he is outside. He races across the street in his pajamas. He stops in front of her. She looks at him, with sweat saturating her hairline, and dripping down her face onto her neck. Her heart pounds in her chest as he stands in front of her, blocking her path. She pulls her earbuds out, and looks him in the eye.

"Thirty six days," he tells her.

"Excuse me?" She responds acting as if she doesn't know what he's talking about.

"I have let you run past my window every single night for thirty six days, and I have stayed inside. I pretend as if I don't notice. I wish that I didn't. Sarah I notice. I see you out here every night, and I wish that you would just come inside."

She folds her arms across her chest, "You know that I can't do that."

"I love you," he tells her.

"You got the divorce papers?"

He nods, "Sarah I won't agree to those terms."

"They are all in your favor," she reminds him, "I drew them up myself."

"The answer is no."

"I love you, but you can't hold onto me any longer. It's like holding onto a knife while it severs your hand. I respect you, and I want you to have better."

"I want better for you too," he admits.

"Then we can agree."

He shakes his head, "No. I drive past your house every morning. Our children ask about you, and I tell them that you are going to come back into their lives. Sarah, don't turn me into a liar."

"Why would you want me in their lives?"

"Because you are their mother. This isn't like when we were thirty, and we could just throw our hands in the air, and walk away anytime that we please. I know that we can't make our marriage work. We have grown in different directions, and I accept that. I won't accept you walking away from our children's lives. It is absolutely, unequivocally unacceptable. _You_ are their mother, so be their mother."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. You are going to start being around, consistently. I know that it is what you want. Sarah check your baggage at the door, and be a parent to our kids. They deserve it. You don't deserve to be punished the rest of your life for the mistakes that were made. We lost a part of both of us, who we will never get back. We lost this beautiful, sweet little girl," he wipes away tears, "and it breaks my heart every single day. I know that those two kids in that house do not deserve to lose another person in their life that they love."

"It is complicated," she points out.

He stares at her, as she stands before him. He studies the place where her folded arms have come to rest. Despite her hooded sweatshirt he notices the growing abdominal area underneath.

"That's okay."


	14. Chapter 14

She stands in her kitchen, holding a glass of tepid water. She groans inwardly as she heads towards the door. She wears a jacket, and a skirt as she moves towards the door. Her jacket has recently been unbuttoned. The doorbell sounds again, and her heels click on the hardwood floor. She reaches the door, and pulls it open. She finds a familiar face standing in her doorway. She smiles at him, and motions for him to come in.

"I just got home," she admits.

He grins, "I can see that."

"Have a seat," she points to the kitchen table.

He nods in agreement, and she joins him at the table. He places a lengthy document in front of her. She tilts her head, and locks eyes with him.

"What is this?"

"Dissolution of marriage paperwork. If that is what you want I will agree."

"Why a sudden change of heart?"

"I want you to be happy, and I re-wrote the document."

"To say what?"

"I feel that it is important that you have a role in our children's lives. Sarah, I can't tell you that I fully understand the choices that you made. You walked down a dangerous, and potentially life-threatening path. In the end, thought, I understand your motivation. I just wish that you had told me. I think that is why both of us can agree this didn't work out. Neither one of us have ever been able to fully commit to being one hundred percent upfront with the other person, out of fear, or out of…"

"Harm, I am sorry."

"I know that."

"Why are you here?"

"You invited me," he points out.

"You said that you wanted to talk, and I agreed."

"I will agree to dissolving our marriage, but you didn't divide any of the assets."

"What assets?"

"Everything is in the paperwork. You don't have to work."

"I am doing some work for Clayton."

He furrows his brows, "That always ends well."

"He has offered me a position that I couldn't refuse."

"Which is what, exactly?"

"I am responsible for vetting agents, and ensuring appropriate security clearance. I am also in charge of investigating any internal matters."

"That has to be monotonous."

"He fired three people last week for committing acts of fraud. This morning he fired two more, who will likely be turned over to other governments."

"That has to be time consuming," he suggests.

"It is only three days a week."

"Oh."

"What else is in this document, Harm?"

"Joint custody," he answers.

"Are you sure about that?"

"I want to reserve the right to revoke that at any time based on the results of drug testing."

"I am not going to object to that."

"How are you feeling?"

She slips off her jacket, "Honestly? I'm tired."

"I would suspect that much."

"I miss the kids," she adds.

"Oh, that reminds me," he points behind him, "I left them outside, waiting on the porch."

She shoots him a look, and he grins, "I didn't, but they did ask about you. I haven't told them that you literally live at the end of the block."

"When can I see them?"

"Whenever you want. Whenever you're ready."

She breaks eye contact. He notices the conflicted look on her face. Her eyes shift toward her abdomen.

"This is about the baby?"

She nods, refusing to meet his glace.

"What are you going to do?"

She shrugs, "I wish that I knew."

"What does your gut say?"

She looks up at him, and her grimace shifts to a grin, "My gut says that she continues to kick me while I'm trying to talk to you."  
"I will support whatever it is that you want to do."

"What would I say to them?"

"An age appropriate version of the truth."

"I don't think that there is an age appropriate version," she points out.

"They really want to see you."

"I don't know if I'm ready," she admits.

"How much longer do you have?"

"Two and a half months," she answers, "but the OB/GYN anticipates that it will be sooner than that."

He studies her closely. She has dark circles under her eyes, and her skin is paler than he is used to. She looks exhausted. He shifts his glance to her stomach. It is far smaller than he remembers it being during either of her other pregnancies.

"Are you doing okay?" He asks her.

She shrugs, "I guess."

"Mac, it's me that you're talking to."

"Not really."

He furrows his brow, "What's going on?"

"The doctor is concerned, because he feels as if I haven't gained enough weight."

"Are you doing something differently this time?"

She shakes her head, "Nothing that I didn't do before."

"What does he suspect is to blame?"

"I spent the first six months with my head in the toilet. They call it hyperemesis gravidarum. It has only just begun to improve in the past several weeks, and it hasn't totally subsided yet. I have had to have IV hydration three times so far."

"Isn't there anything that you can take to help?"

"It's complicated."

"What do you mean?"

"I am afraid to take anything," she admits.

He pauses to gauge her facial expression. He sees the look in her eyes, and she doesn't try to conceal the fear that she is feeling.

"Sarah why are you afraid to take something that will help you feel better? Is it addictive?"

"No."

"Then why?"

"I just don't want to do anything that could potentially harm the baby. The baby was already substance exposed during the first trimester."

"You're afraid that something is wrong?"

She simply nods.

"Did you have genetic testing done?"

"No."


End file.
